The memory of their conversation came at him out of the blue, surprising him with its bittersweet punch.
Irritated, he grabbed hold of his bag and clutched his hat to his head. With a holler, he jumped off the slow moving train, landed hard. Pain ricocheted up his legs and lodged in his knees.
"Jesus Christ," he cursed, bending over until the pain passed. Then, slowly, he straightened.
And found himself on the outskirts of Albuquerque.
He smiled. "Well, Ill be damned. " Albuquerque. It was one of his favorite towns.
There was a hell of a tavern here, and the prettiest little whore on the whole line.
ThisII clear your head, he thought with a smile. Now, finally, hed start to forget the only woman hed ever remembered in the first place.
He strolled through the thin layer of new, airy snow, kicking it as he walked down Main Street. It was a quiet day for Albuquerque; no people running through the square, no Indians selling their crafts along the boardwalk. He walked through the new section of townj and into the old.
As he neared the Tip Em Back saloon, familiarl noises and smells spilled into the street, drawing him in, welcoming him in the way this town had a dozen times before.
He tilted back his hat and pushed through the swinging half doors.
And was thrust into the seedy, smoking tavern. He coughed, blinking hard to see through the thick layer of gray haze that coated the room. From somewhere came the musical thumping of hard hands on a tinny piano. The clattering din rose above the boiling cacophony of raised voices, laughter, and hacking coughs.
He let the door swing shut behind him. The smoke greeted him like an old friend.
Familiar smells assaulted his senses, reminded him that he had been away for a while.
The sharp tang of tobacco, the musty odor of a place that hadnt been aired out in years, and the pungent stench of human sweat and dirty clothes.
It was raucous and loud, jam-packed with people who didnt ask names and didnt care where you were from. Just the kind of place Mad Dog had always belonged.
He tossed his bag into the corner and watched it land. Then he crammed his hands in his pockets and ambled to the long oak bar.
He was halfway there when a male voice boomed above the melee. "Jee-sus Christ, its Mad Dog Stone back from the dead!"
Mad Dog glanced up and saw old Freddy Tomlinson still tending bar.
Freddy grinned, showing off a full set of yellow, rabbit-large teeth. "Hell, Stone, I figured you died. "
Mad Dog sidled up to the bar and sat down on the cracked, painted stool. "You shoulda known better than that, Freddy. Only the good die young. "
Freddy laughed hard, his hand pressed against his wobbling girth. "Yeah, youre right there. " He slapped a wet rag on the bar and started sloshing it back and forth.
Mad Dog grinned. "You gonna make me ask? Whats the point of bein a regular if the bartender cant read your mind?"
Freddy tossed the towel down. It landed with a moist thwack and slid toward Mad Dog. Turning, Freddy grabbed a bottle of tequila and a shot glass from the mirrored shelves behind him and clanked them down in front of Mad Dog. Then he went back to wiping the bar.
Mad Dog frowned at the shot glass. Had they always been dirty? He couldnt remember. Hed never even thought about it before, never wondered. Never cared.
The realization that he cared now made him angry. What the hell difference did it make if the glass had a little dust or dirt on it? Who cared?
He curled his fingers around the tequila bottle and poured himself a healthy shot.
The pungent, eye-watering scent of the alcohol floated to his nostrils. He tipped the drink back and downed it in a single swallow.
Then he poured himself another. He leaned back in the chair and stretched out his legs, glancing around him. The place was filled with familiar faces. Men hunched over dirty tables, playing poker. Painted women standing alongside them, cheering for whoever paid them the most money. Cards snapped on wooden tables, chips clattered together, men cursed.
It was too goddamn loud in here. He frowned at the thought. Hed never thought saloons were too noisy or too smoky or too anything. Everywhere else had seemed dull and boring in comparison. But now, sitting here alone at the bar, sipping bad tequila, he found that he missed the quiet----He shook his head, disgusted. "Jesus Christ, Marian, are you going to ruin this for me, too?"
Somewhere, a woman shrieked. "Mad Dog Stone, as I live and breathe!"